


Drift

by suyari



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Hansencest - Freeform, M/M, Sibling Incest, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/pseuds/suyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone says first drifts are the hardest. No one ever says why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drift

The first drifts are the hardest. It's what everyone says. Years from now, perhaps they'll be advanced enough, experienced enough to keep the first drifts from being so, but that day is not this day. And this day, this day is when they break. 

No one ever says _why_ first drifts are the hardest. No one dares. The truth is, one cannot know what a person will be capable of until they have been put directly into the theoretical situation. Not even them. And even the strongest are taken down at the knees by initial drift protocol. 

There are _reasons_ only seasoned military personnel are considered for the initial wave. So confident, so willing to serve, none of them consider any reason beyond the obvious. That they will take orders. That they will do what needs to be done, and they will fight the monsters head on, with everything they have. 

But as Scott and Herc are disconnected post third trial drift, the physical _ache_ makes them want to tear off their skin. They yank off their helmets and throw them, tug roughly at one another's drivesuits, shelling each other and leaving a trail as they stumble and claw. No one says anything as they pass, doubled over and more than half out of uniform, desperately scrambling backward and around, circling one another and crying out in frustration when they're continually denied. 

“Three full drifts,” someone in a lab coat says, voice clinically impressed. “A new record.” 

They don’t care about the people. Don’t care about the cameras. All they can feel is the overwhelming sense of _loss_ and the way it tears them open from all sides, spilling everything they are across the cold floor of the simulation station. They’re grabbing blind and missing. Their fingers finding obstacles and doing their best to make quick work of it, shredding and tearing with so much need they leave streaks of blood in their wake. 

“Sir.”

“Leave them. This is good. They need to level out. They should be fine in a few hours. Clear the room.” 

The lights go dim as equipment and people file out, leaving them alone together. But they’ve finally found skin and the sheer _relief_ of their bodies connecting is such a sudden counter to the agony, they both heave shaky sighs. 

The last bits of their new uniforms fall to the floor in pieces with heavy sounds and Herc shoves Scott up against the wall so hard they’ll both be bruised tomorrow. Their mouths collide and their hands roam and it’s _heaven_.

“Herc!” Scott gasps, climbing his brother with surprisingly steady limbs. “Herc! I NEED-!”

“Yes,” he growls and brings their mouths back together. 

There’s nothing much after. Nothing much they can remember except for flashes as they lay in medical the next day. Impressions seared into their minds. Sensations that won’t leave their skin. Sounds that echo in their skulls. And tastes that will never leave their tongues. 

It’s all a dream, in ghostly flashes of ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘God’ and ‘fuck’. The tight feel of their bodies connecting and the push of their muscles as their entire beings surge in unison in a hopeless attempt to reconnect. Their souls caged again, now knowing what it means to be free, and the tears that spill in volumes from their eyes. Of frustration and release and desperation and relief and all the things they’d never thought they’d do all done in the span of one afternoon of training that set their very cores on fire and consumed them whole. 

They can’t look at one another, and yet can’t _stop_ looking for one another. And their eyes always seem to meet straight on. They know, they both do, that it’s only the beginning. That there are _reasons_ no one talks about it, but everyone feels compelled to warn. Just as they know they’ll be here again. As they know it won’t ever end for them. 

When the Marshall comes and congratulates them on a job well done, they nod and thank him. No one brings up _why_ they’re in medical and when they’re asked how they’re feeling, they reply that they’re well and willing and ready. They ask when they can try again. 

The Marshall nods and promises them soon. And when he leaves, they look at one another and smile. They’ve done it. They’ve made it. They’re Rangers now. Pilots soon enough. They laugh at their achievements and when they’re cleared, they go out for a drink and celebrate.

Their backs are clapped and their hands shaken and everyone buys them a round. They drink because they can. They have the leave, and they take the chance. But when night falls, the memories come and they crawl in bed together to the tune of ‘Want you.’ ‘Need you.’ ‘Now.’ And ‘Yes.’

When they return, on their way for their first intro to conn-pod mechanics, they see a young pair of candidates shifting nervously outside the simulator room, glancing at one another and trying to swallow down nerves. 

“Hey, no worries, mates!” Scott calls. “It’s easy as dreaming!”

“Just watch that first step,” Herc adds, slinging his arm about his co-pilot. “Bit of a fall.” 

Scott laughs and slides his arm around Herc’s middle and they bump hips as they go. 

After all, no one talks about it. That doesn’t mean no one knows. 

And there’s a _reason_ all initial candidates are from the military. 

They have a mission and they keep their secrets well.


End file.
